


The Demon in his Closet

by Kaz3313



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-11-02 06:38:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20655428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaz3313/pseuds/Kaz3313
Summary: Just have a simple conversation...with your ex... who you may have just left one day... This is definitely not how Crowley thought he would spend his evening.





	The Demon in his Closet

**Author's Note:**

> This has taken me a very very very long time. All I ask is be kind to it ♥️ This is just a oneshot but is my contribution to a a rarepair that needs more love

The Bently was parked outside a bungalow down in the country, away from the busy streets of London. Usually the Bently would only momentarily stop to let an angel out and then speed off, Queen blasting. Aziraphale and Madam Tracy, rather just Tracy now but the Madam was still used more often than not, would meet every month to discuss various books. Most would call this a book club but the Principality said a club couldn't have only two members. 

Crowley decided to tag along but because he didn't know a thing about the book, and little interest in the discussion, he sat idly flipping the pages of the copy Azriphale had brought. He began to make the letters crawl around and soon enough he'd changed an entire paragraph. The sentences became short and choppy. Due to that change he wasn't sure where to put all the commas so he started to sprinkle them in even when they weren't needed. That and the question mark, which he finally reasoned to put at the end of his new incomplete sentence. 

"Crowley! Return that paragraph right back to what it was! And if you're so bored you don't have to stay," Azriphale sized the book placing it on the other side of the table. The letters start to slink back into position but the commas got so lost in the mess they were more spread out than before.

"You know, I'm sure Sergeant Shadwell wouldn't mind talking to you. I remember when you used to call and he'd get the closest thing I ever saw to a smile on his face," Madam Tracy stated.

"That's only cause when I called he knew he was getting paid," It was barely audible but Crowley's voice raised a tad higher.

"Well, maybe" She gave a smile one that Crowely had seen many times (thinking back the first face he ever saw it on was Eve's even if she didn't smile much). though he still couldn't decipher it fully. It said something and that something was what she knew but what she knew and what Crowley knew must be two different things. 

Crowley decided it's best to ignored the out-of-place knowing smile. He gave half a nod and left the room. He could hear the two go back to chatting about their favorite characters (neither could pick just one) and the various scenes before he clicked the door shut.

Shadwell was at the kitchen table sipping at his mug. He watched Crowley waltz past the first time he passed the room. Then he passed again this time donning one of Tracy's hats. Then a third (this time the hat had been taken off)and then a-

"Aye, the kitchen's in here," Shadwell finally announced after Crowley passed the room for a fifth time. It wasn't a large place; not too small either but it wasn't the kind of place where you could miss an entire room. 

"Oh, condensed milk?" Crowley asked as he walked in the kitchen. He scanned the area, various pots and pans (all Madam Tracy's) were arranged in shelves, fresh cut cucumber slices lay on a cutting board begging for someone to take a bite, and knives are placed all in little black sheaths . The quality of the counters though were lacking. The wood was chipping off in little dry chunks. In a year it would need a replacement.

He sat down next to the man whose only answer had been a glare. 'Maybe he'd like to talk to you,' Crowley repeated what Tracy said in his head while looking at Shadwell. He had a soured withered look on his face but when didn’t he? Well, 1960's but that was a little over a half a century ago. People changed like the weather and Shadwell must’ve been an unforecasted storm. Save for pointed questions about witchcraft the younger man would’ve never recognized his older self.

“Demons,” Shadwell turned in his chair and Crowley’s shoulders already sagged. Best case scenario he would be threatened with a finger pointed and bible verses would be yelled for a half an hour. Worst Case scenario the bungalow would catch fire and Crowely would be forced to do some demonic intervention to put it out (or carry all the occupants out). The scenario that follows is neither worst nor best and it wasn’t something previously thought up or considered (which was surprising as creativity was his specialty). “Demons don’t have fathers, do they, laddie ?”

Crowley bit his lip and didn’t respond. 

He remembered the first question Shadwell asked after the first time Crowely introduced himself as ‘Anothony J. Crowley Jr’.

“How’s your father?” This question would be repeated during any time they’d meet in person, even if the time was short. Sometimes the Witchfinder would even add “ You look a lot like your old man. ‘Cept for the haircut. Good genes you got there, ”. Crowley would give a brief little ‘alright’ or ‘well’ but overall kept it brief when his “old man” was mentioned. No further questions were ever pressed but eyes gave away too many secrets, one of the reasons Crowley dons his shades, and Shadwell’s were no exception.

The man wanted more (dare he say it was a hunger); When Crowley made an offhand comment that his father was feeling ‘under the weather’ Shadwell sucked in a sharp breath and his eyes widened. It was the most expressive he’d been since 67 and Crowley ended up, throughout the entire conversation, reassuring that his father was perfectly healthy now. ‘’Was just a small cold, nothing to worry about,” but worry never left him in that meeting. Only at the next, when he spoke about his father traveling somewhere, did he see Shadwell's shoulders relax.

“Y’know, I thought you’d catch on sooner. I have the same tattoo and the glasses,” Crowley whispered, as if it was important to keep hidden. The only people within a five mile radius were busy discussing plot, themes, and the next book from the 1800’s to read and neither would know the connotations. At least the optimistic clung to that hope. He didn't want to deal with any more trouble than he had too. 

“ Thought you was Mafia,” Shadwell put his cup down. 

“Oh...good, I guess,” Just talking felt like robbing a museum and having to walk with tip toed feet to avoid an alarm sounding. Hushed voices and vagueness was supposed to end after the Not-Apocalypse and this entire discussion left a sour taste in Crowley’s mouth. Maybe he should've just stayed and tempted more paragraphs to change. A slightly huffy angel was better than what this conversation had in store.

"Didn't give any notice," If you listened closely you could hear the change in his voice.It was vastly different than his usual coldness. Held something more; something Crowley tried again to ignore. "No warning".

"About being a demon?" Crowely offered; maybe they could just sit in awkward silence for the rest of the half an hour.

"Leaving" The voice audibly shook and Crowley adjusted his sunglasses just to make sure they were still there. He never left; at least it never felt like leaving? He just didn’t meet up with him again. He didn’t need to. It wasn’t his fault Shadwell became old and harsh.

He felt an awful feeling building up so he insisted it to himself again. This time aloud.

“Isn’t really leaving if I turned up again. Just gone momentarily,” Crowley, instead of looking at Shadwell, focused on the cucumbers he saw earlier. Why were there slices lying there anyway? They couldn’t have interrupted Madam Tracy’s cooking, for she knew today was book club day. It didn’t even seem like it went to anything either-like they were misplaced in the grand scheme of things (or rather in the small kitchen). 

“Why’d you even come here?” Shadwell asked his voice returns to his usual cold bitter tone . Crowely wasn’t sure if that was better or worse him sounding like this. The demon waves his hand in the general direction of the "book club" in response. “You usually just drop the Southern Pansy off,” 

“Don’t call him that,” Crowely snapped and turns to the other man glaring. He found the glare turned rather quickly to locking eyes with him (not that Shadwell could tell).

“Now I got your attention! Figures,”

Crowley continued to glare (stare) mouth pursed tightly. He didn’t have the heart to look away but couldn’t think of a proper response.He hated being tongue tied-he hated this entire situation. And like most things, the M25 or things he'd find glued to the street, this was entirely his doing. 

“ And that’s all you have to say,” Shadwell shook his head but his eyes lingered and suddenly it feels like 1967.

Club lights flashed in the background as Crowely explained the heist was cancelled (it would’ve been more of an issue but he gave everyone the pay they would’ve received). The two others involved took the money before leaving, no other reason to stay, but Shadwell stuck around stealing glances. The man was obviously trouble but Shadwell wasn’t scared of trouble; if he served more time, so be it. He was young and took more risks and thought he was invincible. 

“Cigarette,” Crowley asked but it was more of a statement than anything. He already handed one to him and pulled out a lighter. He kept glancing back to his car and often had eyes on a thermos it; no one else would’ve noticed but it was rather hard not to pick up on if he’s the only one you're focused on.

“Rough day?” Shadwell asked as the red haired man finally left his eyes long enough from his Bently to notice the gazing.

“Could say that, there’s a reason I cancelled the..” Crowley, after lighting Shadwell’s, dropped the lighter. Before he could pick it up Shadwell leaned in lighting the cigarette with his own without taking it away from his lips. Crowely tried to find words, maybe a thank you, but found it easier just to leave his mouth slightly opened. Finally he found his voice “Since we’re not going to any church tonight, want to hit a bar? I could go for a good drink,”.

That’s where it started for them. Coincidently it would be where it ended as well. 

Just like the day they first met he remembers the ‘last’ day in detail (not in perfect detail but more details than any other day in the week). It was several months after their initial meeting and they’d just left a bar they frequented almost every other week.

“Wouldn’t be wise to stay the rest of the night,” Crowely said getting into his car after Shadwell was going to follow suit. “Have to go meet with someone early at the park,” He mumbled the rest already starting the engine. The smile on his face was odd (little did he know at the time it wasn’t odd it was the just the first genuine one). Then the Bently sped away. 

It was sudden and several weeks afterward Shadwell would wait outside at their meeting place for hours. The day he gave up waiting was when he’d fallen asleep on the bench and he woke with his wallet gone. To say it was a devastating realization would be an understatement. He’d have no luck finding him but when Crowley walked into a small rundown cafe (before introducing himself as junior) he swore his heart skipped a beat. 

It was different now though and that thought brought him back to reality. 

“Do you remember our nights at the clubs?” Shadwell asked; he was desperate to stay wrapped up in the past but he wanted the demon to join him. Maybe then time would return for just a few moments. Enough to say a proper goodbye and perhaps even heartache would be lifted.

“I wouldn’t take you as one to want to reminisce,” Crowely said remembering every night all too well but in no mood to recount the events of old. He expected that eventually he’d be deterred by his coldness but instead the man presses.

“You danced like a rabbit on steroids,” Shadwell stated and he saw Crowely suppress a smile ( and maybe a laugh as well).

“I I don't think I've ever seen a drugged rabbit- though I can't say I'm not curious now. But on topic of dancing- At least I didn’t step on anybody's toes,” Crowley retorted back but light shifts into his voice.

“N’ae, you did and quite a lot too. I just never said a word ‘bout it,”

“No- I think your misremembering. Must’ve been somebody else that crushed your toes,” Crowley continued to deny.

“Wish it could’ve been like that; after we…” ‘Break up’ wasn’t the right phrase but Shadwell felt it at the tip of his tongue “After we parted ways didn’t really get to dance,” or go out, or dress up, or even kiss, or-

“...Nobody at all...” The air thickened again; Crowley's face fell. It could’ve been a question or a statement but it came out hushed and soft; that’s the part that mattered anyway.

“Jezebel, uh, ex Jezebel, talked a little bit ‘bout it here an’ there but we don’t do anythin’ besides stay in the bungaloo. Well, we go out to the market but hardly call that a proper date. ” 

Crowley stuttered something out in response but it being a mix of syllables that didn’t form any words of any known language, while slightly impressive, did not help get anything verbally across. He wanted to say many things an “I’m sorry,” the simplest of it yet no matter how he moved his mouth nothing came out. Then he thought “sorry” was a little bland anyway and wouldn’t serve any sort of justice. Another logical response would be to talk about what the other so desperately wanted to talk about. Clubs, lights, dances, and other happier times. But then the demon reasons that happier times were the worst to talk about when they were long gone and had no chance of repeating. The conversation would turn into choked poorly held back sobs and how was he going to explain that one to Madam Tracy or Aziraphale (a small inkling in the back of his mind said something along the lines of how he wouldn’t have to explain too much to Tracy but that still left a talk with his angel). So instead he continued to stare at Shadwell hoping the guilt that had taken over his features would be enough of an apology.

Crowley didn't expect wrinkled hands to cup his face but he didn't protest the sudden touch either. The man had been longing to have contact with the one he fell in love with so long ago and Crowely, with everything he's been through, knows how it feels. He repeated that it's the least he can do and another part of him whispers that he wouldn't protest even if he wasn't obligated. Shadwell continued further, as he shuffles they’re chairs closer together, and pulled Crowley toward him; Locking lips. 

“Mngk,” The glasses fall to the floor from the sudden movement and if not for a little demonic intervention they would've shattered. He reached to pick them up but found Shadwell had grabbed them first. They were held just out of reach. Instead of a curse, demand, or even an undignified whine he lets his hand fall limp and deepened the kiss.

“The eyes are the windows to the soul” a bright man once said but he’d never looked into Crowley’s, not many were given that opportunity. He was soulless, the gift from God stripped away from him so long ago, but his eyes betray like any other’s. Sure, physically they were different yet, if you could look past the unusual yellow and ignore the shape of the pupils emotions were as obvious as a lost tourist.

Passion was the first thing Shadwell could see; It was, to no avail, attempted to be pushed down but the more someone tries to hide it the more it shows in another place. A fiery thing passion was, it flared up in spurts but could burn out just as easy. He drops the shades he was previously holding hostage, it’s obvious now that Crowley will make no attempt to snatch them back, and digs his fingers in the red hair (a little harder now that it’d been cut but that didn’t deter him). Maybe if he held tight enough the flame wouldn’t burn out.

Guilt was fast approaching in the other’s expression, he’d noticed it earlier even with those glasses, but he tried to dismiss the notion. It was inevitable, why with that southern pansy in the other room. Though, like anything, out of sight out of mind and Shadwell dares to enjoy this moment even if it meant sacrificing seeing those lovely exotic eyes. 

It never crossed his mind that perhaps the guilt was from the standpoint of Crowley realizing how he had wronged him rather then the thought that his significant other was in the next room.

Arms, that had first lay to the side in wary, wrapped around him. The two hadn't felt the others physical touch in a few decades yet they clung together with such familiarity that people sparing a glance would mistake them as an older couple. Those who bothered to look closer would see the desperation, that only those apart for too long have.

For a moment Shadwell thought it was 1967 again (only this time it didn’t have to be discreet,or rather they didn’t have to worry about any law. The two were being very cautious all things considered). He could smell the exhaust embedded in the streets and hear the chattering of voices (that were, more often than not, hushed). People passing by not giving the Bentley a second glance (out of self preservation not disinterest) as two concealed shady men (well man and demon) tested their luck. The cushions of the Bently were nicer than the hard wood he sat in now but he ignores. After all, the only thing that mattered, and that didn’t change, were soft lips. 

“Crowley, dear! We’ve finished our meeting! ” An angelic voice called from the front of the house; unknowingly doing his job in disrupting sin. 

Crowley was the first to break away from the kiss but he continues the embrace. He leans down his mouth just above Shadwell’s ear.

“Next month?” 

“Aye…” 

“Next month,” He affirmed his own question getting up to leave. Shadwell waved the sunglasses but Crowley produced some from his pocket already slipping them on. He left with not a word more.

Despite his words Shadwell found himself surprised when Crowley showed up at the kitchen table the following month. And he felt the same the next month.. And the one after that.

“ I’m not leaving, y’know that by now. I’ll come back again,” Crowley said as he stood at the kitchen doorway. He’d been in and out six times now.

“And if you don’t? I’d rather be surprised than disappointed, again”.

Crowley never mentioned it in the following conversation; he found it easier to dance around then set himself up for having his feet stepped on. Even if, deep down, he knew he deserved every bit of it.

No one deserved their heart broken for fifty two years, especially if it had been their lifetime. Crowley could only hope to dull the pain he caused. And with seeing hints of smiles and held back laughs- maybe he could count himself as successful.

Even if it only lasted for ten more years. 


End file.
